


Beethoven and Chicken Flavored Ramen? Seems Legit.

by Celestial_Hero



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Noodles, Ramen, That's it, a dog - Freeform, lotsa blushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15443973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestial_Hero/pseuds/Celestial_Hero
Summary: Walmart gifts Tooru with some of the most glorious things life has to offer: ramen noodles on sale, a big dog, and a handsome stranger. Oikawa can't really spill the beans in terms of how he feels about the other, but he can spill the ramen. Too bad Hajime's already done so.





	Beethoven and Chicken Flavored Ramen? Seems Legit.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was literally just a segment from another thing I was writing, but I wanted to make it into its own thing, so here's this.
> 
> I'm actually pretty happy with the results, and I hope you will be too!

"Heeeey Makki, Mattsun." Brunette locks bounce as Tooru skips over to the duo, hand above his head swaying in a lackadaisical wave, donning what appears to be a set of turquoise Nike sweats and hoodie.

"Y'know, Oikawa," Matsukawa begins, voice gruffy after having been interrupted from sleep not only a few minutes ago; Tooru winces, not familiar with them using his last name unless in regrettable instances, "When you said that you 'needed our help', I didn't think it would be to kill you."

"Kill me? My dears, high class, premium, buy two get three free ramen is a blessing, not a curse." Tooru states, voice clipped and nose upturned as he crosses his arms. In his hands are pair of jingling house keys, clinking against hard, black plastic adjourned with a polished horse. Mattsun and Makki look at one another disbelievingly, wondering what in Tooru's right mind thought the statement was one of concern over sodium intake, than actual primal, full-bodied murder? Kids these days.

Issei and Takahiro notice the swell of Oikawa's chest in what they presume to be preparation of a lengthy, tedious speech on _the impact ramen_ _has, and will continue to have in our nation and in our mortal lives_ and shut that shit down real quick. 

"Hey, look at the time. Don't you think we should get going? Before, I dunno, some lucky hobo manages to buy all the ramen before us?"

Before Tooru can even think to reply the the salmon-haired individual, the gaping void in his hand that once were his keys are in Hanamaki's own, and a revving engine from not too far off echoes throughout the barren space of cracked roads and dull streetlights. Oikawa shakes his head and follows his friends.

The purr of the Mustang's engine against his back on the drive through the small town almost matches the vibrations wavering from his own mouth as the trio, windows slightly cracked and speakers up, shout along to some weird ass playlist Matsu pulls up on his phone-a surprise in itself, considering how shitty the network usually is in the region. As they're nearing their third repeat of _h_ _ey now, you're a rock star..._ , the glorious, bright lights of Walmart fill their vision.

Tooru turns into the bumpy, pothole infested sorry excuse for a parking lot, and cuts the car off. Exiting the vehicle, bright beams, shining off of Issei and Takahiro's matching sets of Addidas sweats and hoodies, alongside Oikawa's own favorite brand, fill the trio with another sense of liveliness--bright lights shining on the sweat-drenched, fiery souls of the rock stars after another successful concert. As much as Tooru wishes to give into the growing buzz in his throat and continue singing into the sky, he isn't a heathen. When he said he lived in a small town, it wasn't a joke; you could literally see the dark, weary apartment buildings and their room numbers some odd meters away from where they stood in front of the store.

Hands stuffed into pockets as they enter the disgustingly-bright supermarket, Tooru takes note of the lack of people ambling throughout the store. Yellow smiley faces and generic phrases greet them every aisle they turn. Huh, not too different than if the place were full of people! Tawny eyes rack the suspended labels of each aisle before zeroing in on _Orientals_. Game time, baby.

What with how movies and television portrays the actions of upper-aged teenagers, you'd assume that Tooru, Issei, and Hanamaki spent most of their time dicking around the store before actually getting what they needed, especially (if you wanted to stereotype them) because they're  _jocks!_ Well, like most things that media displays, it's an overexaggeration; unless you consider unrestrained yawns, the scuffling feet of the M&M boyfriends, and half-heartedly mumbled "your mom" jokes, mixed in with a couple declarations of  _same_ and  _mood,_ scandalous. 

Along their way to the aisle, it shouldn't be a surprise that Mattsun and Makki get their hands on a pair of Rockstar energy drinks. 

"We might as well, considering it's almost 2, and knowing you, Tooru, we aren't going to be getting anymore sleep," states Mattsun, eyes blinking slowly still despite their active antics a few minutes ago. Guess it was a bad idea to spend what little energy they had left singing to the Shrek soundtrack then.

Beside him, Makki nods his head and raises the unopened can above his head, "A toast, to our long, loss brethren, sleep. May they forever rest in our steed." He tilts the can sideways, Mattsun blowing air through closed teeth in what's supposed to be the drink pouring into the ground. A few moments of silence are held afterwards, may it be from genuine sadness or their brains still attempting to comprehend what exactly took place, before it's interrupted by a series of sneezes, a lot of something light falling, and a quiet  _fuck_.

"M-"

"I swear to god, Makki, if you say 'mood' one more time," Tooru begins, curiosity taking over as he walks towards where he presumes the noises came from. 

Behind him, he thinks he hears the other say " _big_ mood", although he can't be too sure, when kneeling a couple feet in front of him is the most glorious, #blessed sight before him: firm muscles, good looks, and heaps upon heaps of ramen cups. Olive green eyes meet tawny, and in that moment Tooru feels like a volleyball's been spiked, right into his chest. 

-They say time stands still when you look at the one you love. Oikawa begs to differ, especially considering he finds himself on his back not a even a few seconds after being gifted the sight of such a handsome stranger. Did he faint? Was he literally petrified by the other's good looks? Or maybe the lack of sleep finally caught up to him? Although, what with the drool drenching his neck, and the heavy pants billowing hot air into his face, unless he's tripping on LSD or 3 hours of sleep has made him  _that_ delusional, Tooru's pretty sure he's just been tackled by a dog--and a very big one at that.

Shuffling movement, another sneeze, each punctuated by their own choice of wide ranged, head-turning vocabulary such as _oh shit_ and _fuck._

"G-godammit, boy, get off," a nasally voice commands, tone stern despite its obviously wrecked condition.

The cool, wet muzzle of the dog above him presses against his cheek to sniff a few times, evoking a sharp squeal from Tooru before a giggle erupts from his throat. Oikawa pets the head of the fluffy dog towering over him, before, at least attempting, to sit up. But you see, the thing about dogs is that they make you weak in the knees, from both fear and happiness, one of which Tooru is absolutely bubbling with. Let me give you a hint: he hasn't pissed his pants.

A whistle finally gets the dog off of him, but not before Oikawa's face has been bathed in slobbery kisses. Tooru is still giggling by time Makki and Mattsun round the corner, although he doesn't notice as he pulls the sleeve of his sweater over his hand to wipe his face.

"The fuck happened to you?" Takahiro asks, brow quirked at Tooru's disheveled appearance. Matsukawa looks at the St. Bernard sitting at the other end of the aisle, then at Oikawa, does so another two times before his brows raise in understanding.

"He got smothered by the dog."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," says Tooru, voice quaky. He's absolutely vibrating, hands shaking from the urge to not run over to the dog and lose them in his fur. Or is it the lack of sleep again? Who knows.

"I am so fucking sorry, man."

The gruffy voice draws the trios' attention to the appealing stranger, who now has his hand on the back of a rose-tinted neck, the other wrapped in a black leash. What with the guy's unruly hair and the ramen scattered around him, it would be a comical sight, if not for how fucking  _wrecked_ the guy looked. 

"Y'know," Tooru begins, standing up and patting himself down, "I didn't think I would get topped for the first time by a  _dog._ "

The stranger's mouth opens slightly, forming what looks to be another apology, before his brow furrows. Behind Oikawa, Issei and Hanamaki sigh and say something about them _leaving the two of you alone to fuck,_ or something along the lines, before their sneakers fade from them.

"T-the fuck? That's bestiality. That's fuckin' sick."

"No,  _you're_ the one that's sick. I mean, look at you! You need chicken noodle  _soup_ , not ramen." 

The stranger opens his mouth again, green eyes glowing and brows unfurrowing before one morphs into a single arch, and looks close to uttering a semblance of words fit to cut, although he isn't given the opportunity to when his body seems to receive spike after spike in his chest; the stranger turns his body away from Tooru as he coughs, and for some odd reason, it feels like a feather's just tickled his throat. Usually people, with at least the ones he's encountered, don't take the decency to do such things in their times of sickness, although Oikawa doesn't judge, because he understands how difficult it is to focus on how much shit you feel like  _and_ be mindful of people, especially when you're trying your hardest to  _prevent_ the next round of coughing after the first and-

Ugh, just being sick sucks.

"Well, anyway,  _I_ should be the one apologizing to  _you,_ y'know, for not being here to reach the top shelf ramen for you. I mean, I'm surprised you were even able to knock it all down with those little legs."

After the stranger's coughing dies down, he gives a wheezing huff. "Kick a guy while he's down, will ya?"

"Oh, I'm  _always_ down, baby," Oikawa says, dropping his voice down an octave, attempting to mimic some disco guy on the radio playing smooth jams.

Obviously the stranger gets the joke, because he smiles, eyes closing shut, letting loose a few chuckles that make his shoulders bounce, similar to how his coughs did a few moments prior. Seeing such a reaction, this time with a more positive origin, causes another feather to tickle Tooru's throat, making him want to say something, _anything_ to evoke that warming laughter again. 

Oikawa holds out a hand. "The name's Tooru Oikawa."

"Hajime," the other replies, although he doesn't return the handshake, "And I would shake your hand, but I don't want to spread the T-virus. What's with giving me your full name? It's not like we're in an anime or anything. Didn't your parents ever teach you about stranger danger. I could be an assassin for all you know."

"Wow, Hajime, so rude. And for some weird reason, I find the likelihood of you being one very low." The other rolls their eyes and flips Tooru off at that, and in response Oikawa sticks out his tongue, "No, it's just that this place is so small you can't turn the corner without finding yourself in the same person's ass again, so, I mean, might as well make it less creepy and awkward when we run into each other again."

Another light chuckle before Hajime asks, "How would it be creepy?"

"I don't know, you might think I'm stalking you...or trying to kidnap your dog? Dog-dognap? Okay, whatever."

"My dog, huh? Good ol' Beethoven?" 

The animal, hearing its name, sits up from where it was once lying on the cool tile, tail swaying to and fro. Signaling Beethoven over with a sharp whistle, Hajime opens his arms for the dog to leap into, boots skidding once as he takes the weight of the dog into his arms, legs stern and spread. Tooru thinks he's going to faint for real this time. The sweater on the guy is almost insulting for not showing Hajime's obvious lead in physicality. That dog had to at  _least_ be a hundred pounds. If Hajime's wheezing breaths were anything to go by, though, doing such a thing in his sick condition was obviously taking a tole on him. 

"It wouldn't be that hard, actually," Hajime continues, as if holding a huge dog like it's a baby, while being ill, is just _nothing._ "This guy hops on almost every person he sees, the fucker. That's why I usually come here at night, to avoid him doing stuff like that."

"Dude," Tooru says, almost breathlessly, "I would pay you and your dog,  _both_ , to smother me." 

A sharp laugh finds its way out of Hajime, forcing him to hide his face in Beethoven's fluff, cherry-tinted ear tips contrasting against white, brown, and black. Tooru keeps going.

"And Beethoven, really? How old are you, 60?"

Hajime raises his head, brows raised and mouth agape. "Ex _cuse_ you, Beethoven is a classic!"

"Yeah, if you like listening to stuff like that, you grandpa."

"The fuck? I was talking about the movie."

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. "What movie?"

"Yo-, I-, w-what?! You haven't seen the movie before?" Hajime sputters, incredulous. 

"No...?"

Hajime puts down Beethoven, muttering under his breath  _how am I old the 90s were literally a couple decades ago the fuck_ and definitely _not_ pouting, even though his arms seemed to be crossed in some sort of subconscious action. Closing his eyes, brows furrowed, he sighs before shaking his head, arms uncrossing as he throws them in the air before letting them fall to smack his thighs. "I give up on you, Shitty-kawa."

"S-shitty-kawa?" Oikawa asks, an offended hand making its way upon his chest.

A self-satisfied smirk makes its way upon the other's face at that, and since Tooru isn't a heathen, he decides not on smashing his lips against the other's. God, what was he thinking? He doesn't even know if Hajime likes guys.

Oikawa looks away from the other's face, eyes skirting the fallen ramen and neatly filed shelves, definitely  _not_ blushing, before his eyes befall the blue tag hanging from Beethoven's collar:  _Beethoven_ on one side and  _Hajime Iwaizumi,_ followed by a series of digits on the other.

Tooru's own smirk finds its way on his face. 

"...Iwa-chan."

"Say what now," Hajime asks, smirk continuing to rest on his lips as he squats to recollect the ramen. 

"Brave knight, I now deem thee Iwa-chan. Walk tall, my son."

"I literally have no idea what you're saying," Hajime says, now replacing the ramen on the shelves.

Tooru sighs before helping the other pick up the noodles. "I'm nicknaming you Iwa-chan, smart one."

"That..." begins the other, before he heaves once, twice, and sneezes. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Well that makes it fit better! Stupid, simple, and cute," Tooru explains, holding up a finger for each word. "Your adorable, little sneeze doesn't help you either."

The glare Iwaizumi sends his way could burn through trees and cremate men and women alike on the spot, if it weren't offset by the light blush reforming itself upon his face.

"Shitty-kawa is nowhere near cute, so it describes _you_ perfectly," Hajime states indignantly. By now, the ramen once swarming their feet has dwindled, with only a few cups and packets scattered here and there left to grab. 

Noticing the other's lack of movement, Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa, whose dropped jaw elicits a proud smile from the other. Hajime laughs and continues to clean, and dammit if Tooru wasn't blushing before, because he is now. What was it with this guy that got him so flustered so easily? They literally met a few moments ago.

The duo work in silence, and as they both reach for the final cup of ramen noodles lying on the floor, they finally chance a look at one another. _Now_ is where Tooru understood what people meant when they said time froze looking at one's true love. Although you could narrow it down to a second or two, Oikawa found that meeting the other's captivating stare had the power to knock the breath out of him while simultaneously making him hold it in, in fear of any sort of movement ruining the short-lived moment between them. Electricity thrummed in the air, it seemed, making every breath from himself and the other buzz in his lungs, frying his brain, and what felt like sparks shooting between them. 

It was Tooru himself who tore himself away from the staring contest, although he felt like a winner in the end. Taking the Styrofoam ramen cup still on the floor up, he pulls a pen from his pocket. 

"Chicken flavor, huh?" he mutters underneath his breath while allowing blue ink to stain the soft material with bold, somewhat shaky digits. He hands the cup over to Hajime afterwards, a little smile on his lips.

Iwaizumi takes the item lightly in his hands, mouth opening to form something before-

"Hey, Tooru, I know you're probably having the time of your life right now, but can we go home? It's almost 3, dude, and you know that's when all the spookies happens."

Mattsun and Makki round the corner, energy drinks still in hand, and although the time shining off of Issei's watch only reads 2:23, Oikawa understands the boredom the duo may feel, after basically being unwillingly dragged to the superstore to begin with. He nods, tosses Takahiro the keys, and turns back to Hajime. Small smirks grace the corners of Hanamaki and Matsukawa's lips as they head towards checkout, throwing _we'll be waiting outside_ over their shoulders, winking knowingly. 

For the nth time that night, Tooru's cheeks glow rose before he flips the duo off as they're leaving, shutting his eyes and grumbling at his friends' antics. Breathing in, he turns to face Hajime, whose mouth is covered by his hand, shoulders bouncing lightly, although Oikawa can guess it isn't from a coughing fit. 

Huffing and stomping his foot, Tooru turns on his heel, saying a bit too loudly, "Good- _bye,_ Iwa-chan. Enjoy your ramen, or don't, I don't care," as he makes his totally  _not extra_ exit from the store.

"See you later, Tooru," Hajime says in response, laughter echoing throughout the store at Oikawa's display. 

Tooru's blush is most definitely from frustration, not embarrassment, no matter what Makki and Mattsu say on the drive home. 

* * *

iwa-chan the man: so in the end, you didn't get your ramen

shitty-kawa (me): who said I was there for the ramen

shitty-kawa (me): I could've been there for u

iwa-chan the man: yea sure

iwa-chan the man: but speaking of ramen

iwa-chan the man: I've got these coupons to this new ramen place that opened downtown

shitty-kawa (me): wow coupons. I knew u were an old man

iwa-chan the man: shut up

iwa-chan the man: but ANYWAYS

iwa-chan the man: I don't go there a lot

iwa-chan the man: and they're about to expire so...

iwa-chan the man: u wanna go with me?

shitty-kawa (me): me? going on a date with Iwa-chan? to the only place in this shithole with edible food? dreams do come true

iwa-chan the man: oh shut up I'll ask someone else

shitty-kawa (me): noooooo wait

shitty-kawa (me): …

shitty-kawa (me): I guess I'll gift you with my heavenly presence

iwa-chan the man: …

iwa-chan the man: good

shitty-kawa (me): oh and hey

iwa-chan the man: what

shitty-kawa (me): try not to spill the ramen everywhere

iwa-chan the man: i'll make sure it's chicken flavored


End file.
